The Parting Gift(4)

Blaine’s mind whirred frantically. He had spent so little time with women; any proximity to one flustered him. His mother had died when he was eleven. With the onset of puberty, the lack of a female influence had made him awkward and shy with the girls, and his old man had never been any help in any capacity, so he relied on his buddies. Their often misguided suggestions had a tendency to make matters worse.

The silence seemed to suck the moisture from his mouth. Finally she broke in, “Are you stationed in Boston, Captain?”

His voice caught somewhere in his throat, so he coughed gently to clear its way. “Yes.” She glanced at him again, expectantly. Blaine hated this part of conversation. If she would just keep asking him questions, he would have something say; otherwise, his mind was a blank.

“Okay,” whispered the saving grace from his other side. “I know it’s been a long night, but this is ridiculous.” Blaine didn’t know his co-pilot very well. It was only the second time they had flown together, but he had an easy-going confidence with the dames Blaine wished he had.

“Old Cool Hand here is a smooth fly-boy, but he ain’t so cool with the ladies, Miss Bell,” the man chimed. “I reckon if he could talk, he’d say ‘Miss Bell, I’d sure love to take you dancin’ some time.’”

The stewardess laughed and played along. “And then I’d say, ‘Why, Captain Graham, I’d be delighted.’” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she cast a sidelong glance back to Blaine.

“Well, I’d say that settles the matter. Are you game, Sir?” His companion nudged his arm questioningly.

Blaine shrugged and offered an uncertain, awkward smile to Miss Bell. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“You’ll have to excuse him, Miss Bell. He’s a million laughs in the cockpit, but ‘comes downright taciturn whenever he leaves the safety of the flight deck.”

She giggled again and laid a petite hand on Blaine’s bicep. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m a wonderful dancer, and I promise I don’t bite.”

Her lingering touch did little to settle the knots in his churning stomach, and already he was regretting the concession to take her out.

“So all’s settled but the shoutin’. When and where, Miss Bell?” Fate seemed to be in the hands of the co-pilot now, and his current was sweeping away Blaine’s sense of control. He started to interject, but his two companions stepped closer together to work out the details of his “date.” If there were a guarantee he wouldn’t have to see either of them again, he would duck out now and forget the whole thing.



****



When the taxi pulled up in front of the brownstone boarding house, it was close to eight o’clock in the morning. Blaine’s exhaustion was bone deep, and his movements were slow and deliberate as he slung his overnight bag across his shoulders and dragged himself up the steps to the front door. He rang the buzzer, and waited for the land-lady, Mrs. Callahan, to let him in.

The old Irish woman broke into a wide grin when she saw him standing in the frigid morning, his breath a cloud of steam against the November chill. “Ah, it’s yerself, is it, Captain Graham? We’ve been missin’ ye ‘round here.” He felt like he would drop where he stood and must’ve appeared as such. “Well, come in, come in! Can’t have ye fallin’ asleep on the stoop now, can we?”

Mrs. Callahan was a warm, maternal woman; her fiery red hair dusted with a smattering of gray was always pulled up in a loose bun in the back of her head. She ushered him in the house and guided him to his room on the second floor.

“To bed with ye, Captain Graham, and never fear, I’ll wake ye fer yer supper.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Callahan.” He offered her a weary smile and shuffled into his room.

“Ah, yer a good lad, Blaine Graham.” She pulled the door closed behind him, leaving him alone in the quiet.

Her maternal affection always warmed him from the inside out, a balm which soothed his aching soul – the one thing he’d been missing since his own mother’s death.

Slowly, he hung up his uniform in the closet and changed into a clean pair of pajamas from the bureau. Thankfully, Mrs. Callahan had filled the pitcher with fresh water in anticipation of his arrival. He poured some into the basin and scooped up a handful to wash his face.

And then he fell into bed. His bed. He sank deep into the feather mattress and pulled the patchwork quilt up over his head, darkening the world around him. Sweet sleep possessed him, to which Blaine was happy to surrender.



****



A steady rhythmic rapping on the old oak door pried Blaine out of a deep sleep. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and pushed the quilt away from his face. The broad daylight streaming through the window blinded him temporarily. He threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. Rubbing the haze from his eyes with his fists, he called out, “Yes, Mrs. Callahan, I’m up… I’m up.”

From behind the heavy wood door, he could hear Mrs. Callahan’s thick Irish brogue, “I drew ye a bath, Captain Graham. Th’ water’s coolin’.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “You might want to hop to it, Laddie, before Old Mr. Hanigan jumps yer claim.”

Blaine chuckled. “Yes, ma’am! Just you tell that old codger to mind himself.”